Just Myself
by Lady Ami-chan
Summary: Okay, here's one I never finished. Didn't think it was too good -- Dalova Sairi finds Amiboshi. But what to do when she does?


(Disclaimer: I don't own Amiboshi and Suboshi, nor do I own Nakago. But Dalova Sairi is mine, and if you wanna use the name, email me at: NotesofWinter@aol.com.)  
  
Note I never finished. But if I get good reviews, then I'll continue. Please R&R!  
  
  
  
Artfully draped in black, she rode into Kutou's capital city, her eyes flashing out her golden vengeance. Within her chest, her heart beat pure fire through her veins; her hands trembled on the reins. The horse she rode gleamed ebony beneath the midday sun, its eyes deep and brown. Its gait was a restless, prancing trot, and the lady who rode the stallion whispered soothing, inaudible words, running one black-gloved hand down the long neck.  
  
Visibly the beast relaxed. Passersby began to notice the strange sight and would pause for moments, laying bare their insipid curiosity, then fall back into the routine of shopping or crying their trade. Disgrace could not come to those who did not know of it. After a stretch of a long ten minutes, each townsman on that particular street had taken their fill of the lady in black and her creature, and she was forgotten like a bad memory, pushed to the very back of one's mind.  
  
But she remained in view, the sun throwing echoes off of the black satin robings the lady wore and off of the stallion's silky black coat. The soft clicking of the horse's iron-shod hooves were an unassuming herald to her presence on the unnaturally-quiet street. "You there. Sir," she beckoned, her voice whispering rich and low as she spoke to a nearby man, dressed militarily, with a tall aloofness to him that did nothing to deter her.  
  
The soldier spoken to gave the woman in black a stare. The whites of his dark eyes showed, though whether it was fear or anger she could not tell. "Sir. Bring me to the palace. There is a score I must settle from long ago," the lady intoned, her eyes glowing golden from the depths of her drapings.  
  
The soldier approached, the beginnings of a sneer forming on the arrogant male face. "You think to command me, lady? Such treatment is beyond the limits of my patience." His voice held a laughing tone, as though he thought her endeavor pointless.  
  
The woman merely gazed upon him without fear. A small smirk of carelessness played about the corners of the full lips, and one hand left the reins of the calm black stallion to turn palm-up, in a gesture of patient exasperation. Speaking slowly as one would to an individual of far lower intellect, she whispered, "What you think of as pointless could mean your life or death, my lord." A flash of reflective light from a concealed, finely-honed steel blade made the soldier's blood run icy. The smirk became a smile, charming and calm. "Lead the way, my lord." The title was enunciated clearly as in mockery.  
  
With a gulp that caused the faint bobbing of the cartilage in the soldier's throat, he nodded, seized the bridle of the black stallion, then began to lead the horse. The lady swathed in black, satisfied, watched impassively the curious gazers. When one would meet her eye, crimson blushes ensued, the starer mumbled an apology and hurried off, sufficiently cowed. A smile lit her golden, tanned face, invisible through the black satin. Curious peasants scurried past, like mice toward a cheese goal. This she watched apathetically, amused by their avoidance of her. Did she really exude such an aura of implacability, of easy fury?  
  
The soldier that led the black beast spoke not a word. That disappointed her; she had hoped to hear him mumble of revenge. It always made her laugh to hear their half-witted plans to take their retribution from her. The strange golden cat's eyes blinked above the black veil. Glancing down at the fragment of faded violet cotton she held in one black- gloved hand, she appeared thoughtful for a moment, rubbing the swatch lightly, absently.  
  
Faint memories slipped into her awareness. She had read them so often since leaving the village that they seemed as faded as the cloth itself, dancing in pastels where they had once been vivid and bright. The memory of the one she was searching for was the palest, having dimmed to the faintest shadow of the calmly-smiling young man. Replaying it again, one last time, she observed closely the sharp, shadowed appearance of his eyes, the faded furrow in his brow, the faint hints of what could be premature lines of worry tracing the edges of the scintillating blue jewels.  
  
Her hand tightened involuntarily around the bit of cloth, breaking her reverie. There was no time for her to be thinking of how handsome he was; it was only her job to find him and bring him home. "We're almost there, lady." The once-arrogant voice before her startled and annoyed her all at once. The side of her that remained the ingenue almost questioned the soldier why he was so reluctant to lead her to the palace, where spires rose tall and menacing against a sky heavy with rain clouds.  
  
The black stallion pranced slightly, making its intimidation plain as the white, star-shaped blaze on its muzzle. The look of the tall, wrought- iron gates of the impervious castle shields sent a tremble of ice chasing down her spine. This was no place to be taken lightly.  
  
The gates opened, and she was allowed in, mount, leader and all. One gloved hand brushed the gate bars, and she felt a spectral hand of concealed evil at work within the great palace. In fact, years of the taint rolled from the place in heavy, drugging waves. At last she began to feel the wearing effects of the far journey from her home, and her breath came heavier, more slowly, though she was careful to keep the feeling of weariness from showing in her posture. Her body remained drawn tight as a bowstring, taut with tension and ready. One hand hovered, beneath the black satin, around the feather-sharp blade she had used to bribe the soldier.  
  
A footman appeared at her side, seizing the reins to the stallion, which she surrendered without complaint. Slipping lithely down the shoulder of the great creature, she patted the gleaming black muzzle, gave the horse an offering of a bit of sugar, and padded on silent, moccasin-clad feet to the great doors, where she made herself known.  
  
Rapping the heel of one hand against the door, she waited. A servant answered the door tentatively, then bade her enter, which she did, making no move to remove the blackness that shrouded her. "I wish to see the Lord Nakago as soon as possible, mistress." Her voice flowed out rich and smooth as before, a soft dark-chocolate. "Tell him that it is urgent." She sank into a small chaise, allowing her weariness to overcome her, and before she knew it consciousness was no longer her own.  
  
No man or woman could have read the Lady Sairi's dreams then, as she could not decipher them herself. Flashes of light dominated them, as memories from a past she did not care to remember. Her years were few, yet they had stretched into a small eternity. So long had she searched for the fulfillment of the scrap of memory that sustained her that she was old, far before her time.  
  
She could hardly recall her own image. She did not want to, at any rate, though what bit she did remember was of a cat-eyed maid with skin bronzed golden by the punishing sun and hair fair as silver, long and curling. Her body was small, diminutive, but with a monopoly of litheness, strength, and tenacity that kept her at the arch of her physical well- being.  
  
But her mind was a morass of deep-rooted fears. Other women and, yes, even men would blanch and fall at the mere telling of what, for her, had been the high points of a life she considered far too tenacious, tiringly so. Her eyes were catlike. Her senses were as honed as an assassin's, though Lady Sairi was no assassin. The color -- or lack of color -- of her garb bore no significance with her skill.  
  
The Honorable Lady Sairi had once been a court beauty, with ice-pale skin and long, soft hair well-kept. Now she was a seeker, hardened to abuse and pain and the flashing of the whip. Her once-pale flesh was now baked and bronzed to a smooth golden; her rosy, smiling rosebud lips now too expressionless for beauty in the conventional way. That had not stopped her captors from using out what innocence she had left, selling the precious, slender body for the vile pleasures of men. Sairi had turned to cynicism and, finally, apathy. Nothing of the smiling, laughing little girl she had been remained in the eerily still face, in the eyes, gold against gold, reflecting no light.  
  
Sairi did not dream of peace and happiness. She did not dream of 'happily ever after', nor of loving the one whom she sought. What would be, would be. And nothing within golden Sairi's limited powers could have even a small effect on the great apathy that built a wall of ice around her heart. Her mind slowly came to, listening faintly to the low, cold voice from the tall blond man who stood in the doorway.  
  
"She did not give her name?" Consternation rang in the deep richness, sending a small lance of chill down her spine. The strange senses she possessed that made her feel closely all her surroundings did reach him, and the very emptiness of him was nearly unbearable. Sairi recognized him as tall and blond, pale of skin and cold of temper. A Hin -- exactly what one would not expect, which made it the obvious for her. Her eyes remained closed, and she regulated her heart and breathing to that of sleep when the large hands turned her huddled form over, unfolding it on the couch, while adroitly removing the black satin that concealed her golden-bronzed face. "A rather pretty girl, at that, once one gets past that damned shield."  
  
Lady Sairi felt like clawing the blue eyes out. It had been seven years since a man had seen her face. No. Wait... she could not allow herself that liberty, nor could the fury be liberated. Calmness seeped into her again, her breath settled into the sleeping cadence, her muscles relaxed. She remained a somnolent, lithe creature.  
  
The voice from above her sounded again, and she was gathered like a child or a kitten into the liquid-steel arms. It was unpleasant to feel so reliant on someone other than herself; it went against the grain. This time she forced her body into full energy, wakefulness exploding into every extremity. After jerking one hand free of its kidskin glove, she scored a long red furrow in the white skin.  
  
There was a hoarse curse exclaimed, then Sairi was deposited unceremoniously on her rear. Deftly she skittered back, her golden eyes flashing out distrust and fury, retaliation. She did not trust this tall, emotionless Hin creature, nor did she trust her traitorous tongue.  
  
A low, admiring chuckle escaped him, his hand pressed against his cheek in amazement. Not a weak assassin, never that; the servants were quite wrong. She was much more like a lithe, dark feline, complete with snapping golden eyes -- and claws. "Well met, milady," he complimented begrudgingly. "You have no reason to trust me, and so you do not. Instinct? I daresay something much more. You had all the attitude of sleep," he temporized thoughtfully, "and the cadences, but there was no way you could flash such an attack on a sleep-grogged mind."  
  
There was an air of menace around the small Sairi, then, as she did her best to project the proud, silent hauteur that so intimidated the normal villagers. In a mirror across the room she saw herself reflected, and almost recoiled. The sun had browned her face to rich golden tint, nothing new, and her soft silver curls were cropped close in favor of comfort over beauty. Her lips were unsmiling, set in a grim line, though they remained faintly rosy. Without fail, her eyes remained catlike. "Who are you?" Her voice held a tint of rich compulsion, low and hypnotic.  
  
"I am Nakago. And, milady, who are you?" One blond brow quirked, but the rest of the stern, saturnine countenance waxed immobile, icy. The long furrow of red blood she had lashed into his cheek added the contrast for the brilliantly blue eyes.  
  
"Sairi." The word was simple enough, but she hadn't spoken the musical name in all the years she'd been searching for the boy in the memory. The swatch of faded cloth was smooth against her ungloved hand, and the memories came through even more strongly. That was why she wore the leather gloves over her delicate hands. Involuntarily the memories would flood through from any object Sairi even grazed. "I have come in search of someone."  
  
Nakago observed Sairi's appearance closely, and found his instincts to respond to a primal urge: she was no pale, childlike maid, but a wild- eyed beauty of small, feline proportion. "And who is that, Lady Sairi?"  
  
It had been a long while since anyone had called Sairi, Lady Sairi. Her body gave an offering of a shiver again as he helped her stand unsteadily, the slash on his face forgotten apparently. "I know not his name, Lord Nakago. But if you consent, I can show his image to you." Her eyes shimmered softly kittenish with mischief.  
  
Gazing at her with one brow quirked, Nakago nodded his consent.  
  
"Close your eyes, my lord, and do not block me out of your mind." When Nakago complied, Sairi lifted her hands and pressed her palms to the expanse of his broad chest, spreading her slim fingers. The familiar tingling of the image-transmission swept like a hot, dusty wind through Sairi, and --  
  
Flash! Into Nakago's mind came the image of the slim young man with his wide bright eyes, the expressive lips, the grin that reached both. With that he shuddered, the image slipping into memory, and became acutely aware of Sairi's trembling against him. His eyes slipped open, and the vision that met him was a fright: pretty Sairi unbearably pale beneath her golden tan, trembling against him for lack of energy.  
  
Appalled, he wondered how long the vision had danced before his eyes, then scooped the girl up as he had before, but this time there was no violent resistance. In fact, the slim, black-clad body offered no resistance, and that worried him. "Amiboshi!" Nakago roared, and Sairi cringed against the broad chest, closing her eyes tightly.  
  
There was a cacophony of hurried steps rushing down a staircase, and the response in the soft, not-yet-tempered baritone. "Yes, sir?"  
  
"This girl, Lady Sairi's looking for you. She spent herself in transferring your image to me, so I think she intends something far more than I can fathom. Her mind is entirely closed to me," Nakago said thoughtfully, and Sairi found herself transferred from the secure, definite strength of Nakago's arms into a gentle, warm embrace that felt much more like a home she had long been estranged from. He smelled of something warm, something richly soft, something expressively, plainly his and his alone.  
  
Sairi groaned, stirring in the gentle hold. "I want... want to sleep..." And so she did want to sleep, the discomfort plainly written on her golden face.  
  
"Hush, miss. I understand. You'll sleep in a moment." At that, the slim Amiboshi carried Sairi up the stairs to his quarters. Flushing lightly, he settled her beneath his blankets, hoping he wouldn't offend her. "Sleep well, miss."  
  
Sairi caught a glance at her rescuer, and saw the image of the very young man she had been searching for, then she slipped into a delirious dream. It could wait till morning.  
  
At fate would have it, Sairi became heavily fevered, and tossed and turned during the night. Amiboshi tended her well, keeping a cool, lavender- scented cloth over her forehead and fanning her through the spells of unbearable heat.  
  
It was impossible to tell how long Sairi slept. In and out of a dazed, breathless slumber she stuttered, recalling memories absorbed from many things, many people, and wishing she could turn off the ability.  
  
During one of her wakeful, almost-sentient moments, she sat up, leaning back against the headboard. The coverlet was smooth and hot beneath her seeking fingers as she plucked idly at it, staring dully exhausted. The ordeal was almost more than she could bear. Without looking into the mirror, Sairi knew that her short, silvery hair was fairly plastered to her skull with sweat and oil, and that her eyes were listless in a fever- flushed, once-golden face. What a fright she looked, though she didn't much care.  
  
"Sip this." There came the soft baritone again, and a strong pale hand held out a cup of cold greenish fluid, what might have been cooled tea. After gazing at it a moment and mustering her strength, Sairi reached her trembling hands to take the cup, and lifted it to her cracked, dry lips, sipping once, cautiously. The bitterness of the liquid almost choked her, but she continued to swallow it, delighting in the touch of wetness on her lips.  
  
"Thank you," she rasped, then was appalled by the sound of her own voice. "Thank you," she tried again, and it remained the same. She drew her brows together in despair. "What's wrong with me?" She took another deep draught of the bitter, cool fluid.  
  
"You exhausted yourself -- all your resources, and your body couldn't function any longer." Reproof sounded in the voice, and Sairi couldn't bring herself to look up at the person who the voice belonged to. "It seemed like you hadn't rested in days! And that beast of yours fared almost as badly as you! The both of you have been ailing for nearly two weeks."  
  
Sairi gasped and fumbled the nearly-empty cup, capturing it just in time. "Two weeks? I've been asleep... that long? I don't believe it..." Then she shifted wrong, causing a liquid flow of pain to course through sore, stiff muscles. "Ah... ouch," she murmured softly.  
  
"Sa, sa! It would, wouldn't it?" he gently admonished, using the fencer's acknowledgment. Humor tinged his soft voice lightly.  
  
She winced. She wouldn't do that again, assuredly! With his adept assistance, Sairi managed to shift her hapless limbs into a more comfortable position. Somehow she didn't feel degraded by his help, or patronized in the least.  
  
When his hands touched her, she shivered. A barrage of memories that shocked her recovering senses into fear. She particularly quivered under a memory of his parents, lying dusty, bloodied, and dead in a road. Sairi cried out, gripping his hand in an iron vise. Fear echoed through her, caught on every curve of her feminine form, rank with its essence. Once against the fever-seizures racked her, and there was nothing but the starry within.  
  
Dalova. Her true name... Dalova. Dalova Sairi... memories she would never remember, would never wish to remember. What sort of mess had she gotten herself into? Child of a horse breeder. Daughter and hope to Karian. Lady of dreams to Mikado. Dreamer, lover, winter-child ---  
  
And seer. Touch-reader. How beautiful, the touch-sense, but fearful. Gloves over the transmitters, ease the flood of memory. Guard against taint. Destiny...?  
  
Destined for who? For the flutist without taint... awful past! Fear, death, longing, lust. Not fulfilled... No longer wings... pain, none yet... but there would be... sure. Fever seizure! FEVER SEIZURE!  
  
Gasping back into wakefulness, Sairi found that her hands had been clenched so tightly, her delicate nails had cut crescent-shaped wounds into her palms, over and over again. Her entire body ached wearily, and lassitude seeped through her. She trembled still from the desperate clasping of every muscle. Coated in perspiration, she breathed heavily, wretchedly. "The fever. It's broken."  
  
Amiboshi brushed his palm against her face. "You're right. You've cooled down. We've got to get you back to strength. Somehow I think you came here for a reason." Gently he sponged the salt-sweat from her golden brow, leaving behind lavender scent in its wake. "Do you permit me to clean you, as you seem incapable?" Embarrassment was soft behind the summery baritone.  
  
"I do..." her voice trailed raggedly, her breath labored but improving. Her eyes remained closed, though imprinted in her mind was a vision of him, his eyes soft with concern, overlaid with Mikado, Karian... who? People from a past that she was unrepentant for. A dogged smile spread on her cracked lips, and she slipped into a merciful state of oblivion.  
  
When at last she came to for the final time, she was clad in soft white robes, curled up with her body leaned against the sleeping Amiboshi's. With a groan, she forced herself upward. Her lips were softened and healthy with beeswax solution, her hair was washed and brushed into soft, smooth, becoming curls if close-cropped, and her golden skin was scrubbed almost to a luster. Someone had taken exceedingly exquisite care of her. She smelled of lavenders and some special minty scent that was not at all her own. "Amiboshi," she whispered softly, the restorative he had forced down her having soothed her rough throat and voice back into its velvet contralto.  
  
Slowly he roused, his eyes flickering open. "Oh, miss! Welcome back! Your color is..." he said around a wide yawn, "improving immensely!" He gently leaned her against the back of the couch, while clambering to his feet to press his forefinger to her wrist. A look of concentration flickered over Amiboshi's handsome face, almost like an artist caught in a literary reverie, and he nodded, a brilliant smile crossing his lips in contentedness. "Wonderful. You seem to be on the mend, my dear girl! I never heard your name...?  
  
Here was a quandary. Sairi fidgeted slightly, unsure whether to give him her real name or her use-name, two entirely different concepts. To call herself Dalova would mean that she trusted him, that she actually considered him a friend. To call herself Sairi would realize her instinctive distrust of every male of the species. What to do? What to do? "Dalova Sairi," she reluctantly murmured, brushing back an errant curl, nervous as a schoolgirl. Would he accept her? "Touch-reader and searcher." All of her screamed a danger warning, her body trembling faintly, though she did her best to repress her natural reactions as the adrenaline flowed.  
  
"Welcome to Kutou, Lady Dalova. I am Amiboshi. Forgive the lackluster greetings, but Kutou is in deep distress right now. Something has been interfering -- seven soldiers dead, and Lord Nakago injured..." Amiboshi sounded deeply thoughtful. A shadow moved across his face, and Sairi divined that he wished he could be anywhere but the failing country. "Emperor Shoukitei has allowed this country to fall so out of shape, never enforcing the tithes to the palace, and they don't grow as much. Lord Nakago fears that our empire will soon fail to the weaker ones surrounding us: Suzaku's land to the south, and Genbu's country, to the north. Militarily, we remain strong. And as to Seiryuu... well, we're seven Stars strong. Not that my twin and I would remain had we the choice." A touch of longing brushed his baritone murmur of a voice, and Sairi keenly felt the distress, wanting to calm and comfort him.  
  
He had seemed to accept her for who she was. Sairi had begun to relax when pounding on the door ensued, and yelps of screams. "Let me in!" came the entreaty from outside, and Amiboshi obeyed the summons. In flew a young man, his form blurred skillfully by speed. "This damnable creature--!" Sairi's small pet ferret was flung violently away from the boy, landing, chittering angrily, in her lap. With a chuckle, she stroked the soft fur, soothing the upset creature gently.  
  
"Hush, there, sweetling... It's me, little fool..." As though insulted, the entering young man, clad in navy, orange, and white glared at her, nursing his clawed, savaged hands, one knuckle brought to his lips for soothing. Amiboshi chuckled faintly, covering it with his smooth, undamaged hands.  
  
Almost like it was a dream, Sairi recognized the detached tingling from her hands as the cuts she had dug into them with her nails. Ouch! And the little creature's fur was salty with her stallion's sweat. Drawing in her breath, Sairi rubbed them against her white robes, wincing again. "Ouch," she mumbled thickly, surveying the oozing crescents with a brilliant golden eye.  
  
"The girl says ouch," the identical barked, tossing up his hands in disbelief. "Not especially eloquent, are you m'girl?" His voice was louder and slightly more fierce than Amiboshi's, and his features sharper. Twins, definitely. But there was no doubt in Sairi that Amiboshi was the one she was looking for, and it almost was if the cosmos had said, 'all hail Dalova, mistress of stating the unanimously obvious!', when Amiboshi solicitously seized her hands, wincing sympathetically.  
  
"We'll clean and wrap those now, Lady Dalova, unless you mind?" Amiboshi had already slipped off to seize the items he would need to 'doctor' the wounds that adorned the whole of Sairi's palms.  
  
"As you wish," Sairi responded, gazing distantly at the far wall. What was she worried about? A strange foaming feeling seized her stomach, and she peered down at it. Her headache returned, but no fever accompanied it this time. This new arrival... he had a feeling of violent fury about him, almost a nimbus of pale fire, counteracted by Amiboshi's calm, soft blueness.  
  
She snapped back to herself when the sting of antiseptic fluid on her hands came. "Ouch!" Instinctively she tugged them away, only to have them firmly grasped by the identical. Sairi stilled, perceiving all of his mind involuntarily. Suboshi. Shunkaku... a gentle creature with a violent past and protective motives.  
  
"Be still! You're making this difficult..." Suboshi murmured to her, holding her wrists out for his brother's ministrations. Contrite, Sairi kept her hands still as she could until his grip began to put the nerves to sleep.  
  
"Let me go, oaf, or my hands will fall off!" she hissed, glaring at him, her golden eyes flashing. Suboshi guiltily dropped his hold. Amiboshi chuckled his amusement, but said nothing, busily binding the opened palm- wounds with cool white linen. A thoughtful half-smile crossed Sairi's face. The gentle, pacifistic Amiboshi had a laughing side, as well, with all the blandishments of others. Why was he so special? Why was he the object of her lifelong search?  
  
Had she been able to answer that question, there would be no reason for her to impose upon the troubled palace. As it was, she feared she might fall in love with him. Drawing her hands back to herself, she flexed them thoughtfully. "Thank you, my lord."  
  
Amiboshi laughed uncomfortably, raking his antiseptic-stained hands through his dirty-blond hair. "Please, don't give me a title I don't deserve. Call me Amiboshi. No need to be so proper about acquaintances here, though it would be wise to remain so when around the Lord Nakago. Everyone downstairs holds a title, but Suboshi and I are only boys." His shoulders rose, and he smiled apologetically.  
  
Sairi nodded her acquiescence, sighing softly. "No need to title me, either. Nor do I deserve any sort of respect." She thought of the wanton year in which she had raged across the island off the northern coast where she'd been birthed. So many deaths stained her slim, adept hands with their endless floods of lifeblood that she could no longer count, nor did she wish to. Back then she'd been known as Dalova. The name gave her pain, physical pain that coursed through her thin, golden-tanned frame. "Please, employ my use-name, Sairi. My true name gives me grief," she said truthfully, fingering the bandages on her hands. Now, for the first time, her own blood joined that of the innocents in her hands. So strange a sensation, a foaming, rippling, bubbling thing that seemed to grow in her stomach.  
  
"As you wish, Sairi." Amiboshi was gentle, understanding. The little creature that until then had slept peacefully in Sairi's lap woke with a start, its beady black eyes surveying the twins.  
  
Softly Sairi soothed little Chi-ai, her wrapped hands gliding over the smooth butterscotch-colored fur simply. Amiboshi watched. There was something about this lady that seemed almost regal, but the close-cropped silvery curls, tanned face, golden eyes, and rosy, generous lips belied her distant demeanor. She seemed a creature of emotion, though she didn't show it. And every time her hands grazed a new object, she seemed to space for a moment, then slip back into reality. A 'touch-reader'? Perhaps she had meant that she could read the past of any item she touched.  
  
Heavens! Amiboshi hoped not! He had touched her often to cleanse and bandage her, and his past was something he'd prefer to keep hidden. It wasn't exactly honorable, but it was his, and he'd not have done it any different. But that meant that she would be able to read his desires, his heart, and that was what he'd prefer to keep secret. A deep curiosity built within his slim frame, rising to match the humid heat outdoors. She had piqued this, he knew.  
  
Sairi watched his face. She really must be more careful, more subtle. This power was not something to be tampered with. But it struck succinctly at her heart's barriers, and she fought back with the strong curiosity that was her avatar. She did not like the way the more violent twin made her feel. Shaking herself like a wet dog, she slipped back into time as she knew it. A lady of Dalova Sairi's strength could cause death, without intending to. And then the search would go on endlessly. She needed to rest. How weary she was!  
  
"I'd better go now," Suboshi, the identical, said. Perhaps he sensed the undercurrents of subtle battle? Sairi doubted it. He was sensitive, but never that sensitive... of course not! What a silly idea! Again she shook herself, nodding.  
  
"It was lovely to meet you... Suboshi." Her voice trembled throaty contralto. Relief bubbled up in her as the uneasy twin stalked off, casting glances at her over his shoulder.  
  
After he stepped out the door, Sairi burst into rich laughter, clapping her hand over her mouth. This would be a rather amusing escapade. 


End file.
